The Douche Who Stole Christmas

Two sizes too small

Two sizes too small

2 years ago, I had a very sudden medical emergency. It’s always a good time when these things happen two weeks before Christmas, isn’t it? I had no idea what was happening to me. I was at work, and all of a sudden everything went very foggy and I was reduced to a kindergarten vocabulary. I knew what I wanted to say, but my mind wouldn’t let me. Oh… and I went completely numb on the left side of my body and fell down. As I laid there in a heap on the floor, I had a genius idea. In lieu of an ambulance, let’s call my douchebag ex-husband who conveniently works next door and have him drive me to the ER. I didn’t want to embarrass myself by being 911’ed out of there. I’m sure it’s completely normal to spontaneously lose feeling on the left side of your body and have your brain essentially melt into goo. Until this very day, I blame my poor decision making on brain damage.

Douchetard picked me up, begrudgingly. No sooner had my co-workers wheeled me out to the car in my semi paralyzed state when he launched into a verbal assault of epic proportions. Oh yeah… now I remember why we’re no longer married! Even with brain damage, I knew that much. He told me that I was a drama queen and was just “trying to get attention”. Whaaaat? Are you serious? Sweetheart, if I was trying to get attention, I’d just wear a low cut top. My boobs are fantastic. Well, that’s what ‘normal me’ would say. At the time, I think I yelled out something super relevant like “poptarts!”

He drove me to the hospital and left the car running as an orderly retrieved a wheelchair. My former love essentially threw me into the wheelchair like a sack of potatoes and basically pushed the wheelchair through the automated doors up to the reception desk. At this point, I didn’t know where I was and the vomiting started. I’m clearly the best faker ever. Random people started asking me questions that I couldn’t answer because my brain was on a time-out. I sat that alone and terrified as the father of my child burned rubber out of the hospital parking lot.

After being poked and prodded, asked to read a bunch of 1st grade poems, and attached to multiple machines, it was established that I had suffered a stroke. I was naturally pissed off. I was 38 years old and that stuff isn’t supposed to happen until I’m wearing Depends and chasing my grandchildren around with my dentures in my hand. The douche was unsympathetic and not at all apologetic when I called to ensure that he would tend to my 4 year old daughter while I was in the critical care unit of the neurology department listening to volunteers sing Christmas carols. He seemed almost disappointed when informed that I would probably live. He decided to tell me about his new girlfriend at this obviously appropriate moment. She’d help him take care of my daughter! Oh great, I can feel free to cease breathing then, right? I’m glad you have a replacement mommy all lined up. I only hope you guys send out adorable Christmas cards with the three of you in matching sweaters. Oh good… the sarcasm was creeping back! Maybe I was going to be ok!

I spent about 6 hours in the ER that day until they moved me up to the stroke ward. I was pretty ornery and not at all an ideal patient. I made a nurse cry because she was pressuring me into using a bed pan after the feeling had come back on my left side. I think my exact words were, “Listen lady, I WILL go into the bathroom in a normal toilet like a normal person. I don’t care if I have to army crawl my way down the hall. I’m not peeing in a pan like a degenerate.” Shortly after that, I attempted to charge two orderlies a dollar a piece after I caught them peeking into my room through the curtain. My awesome boobs were exposed because of all the leeds I was attached to. I directed them to the nearest strip club and called them disgusting pervs. I think they were probably just trying to bring me meds, but I still had brain damage.
Yes, It’s true… I got a stroke for Christmas that year. Isn’t that what everyone wants? You can’t wrap that shit. More importantly, I finally got the courage to move on from a bad relationship with a douche whose heart was two sizes too small. That, my friends, is a gift you can’t put a price tag on.


3 Responses to “The Douche Who Stole Christmas”

  1. 1 anita
    August 1, 2013 at 10:03 am

    Holy Crap! I had a stroke (at 37, non smoker, not overweight, runner…always feel the need to justify that I am not unhealthy) that year for New Years!! Congratulations, we joined the club together and we can now chat with the residence of a nursing home and fit right in!

  2. 2 Dutchman
    August 2, 2013 at 4:20 pm

    I’m 27 and had a stroke at 26. No age requirements for brain fuckery lol

  3. August 16, 2013 at 3:33 pm

    In have gone through two min-stokes in the last 3 months. Just waiting for the non mini type to come along. My favorite part of the hospital stay was being woken up by a nurse shouting at someone that they didn’t have to go to work and to of course they were cold because they didn’t have any clothes on. Yeah, fun times in the stroke recovery ward.

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About the Broad

A humorous look at dating in your mid-thirties and the other hilarious things that happen around us on a daily basis.

December 2012
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